


Glimpses of Sand and Stone

by eschscholzia



Series: Fastitocalon Tales [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Arguing, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Double Drabble, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Family Issues, Gaming, Making Up, References to Illness, Romance, Sailing, Snowed In, Time Skips, pregnancy mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eschscholzia/pseuds/eschscholzia
Summary: Glimpses of Finduilas and Denethor's life after "Come Leave the Sea and Let Us Run." These are drabbles (and a few double drabbles) written on the prompts of the30-Day OTP Challenge. Also guest starring members of the Dol Amroth family and some original characters.





	1. Days 1-10

**Author's Note:**

> _"...She was a lady of great beauty and gentle heart, ...Denethor loved her, in his fashion, more dearly than any other..."_   
>  J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings: Appendix A.

**Day 1: Holding Hands**

Walking back from the rock, she left her hand in his. She knew it wasn’t proper, but who would see?

_Only all of Castle Amroth_ , a head voice whispered. She stiffened.

Perhaps sensing her distress, Denethor smoothed the back of her hand with his thumb. She felt the rough edges of his callused hands. The knot in her stomach relaxed a little. Between the heat of the midday sand under her bare feet and the massive arm of her friend? Suitor? Partner in escapades? Finduilas felt cocooned in warmth. It was strange, but perhaps she could become accustomed to this.

* * *

 

**Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere**

The winter wind blew strong off the sea. Finduilas struggled to get her stockings back on as the ends flapped. The water had been warm, but the air was cold.

“Here.” Denethor wrapped the edge of his cloak around her to give her shelter. She leaned into his side as the edges of his eyes crinkled in a rare smile.

“It’s good to be on my rock again.” Sturdy half boots restored, she curled her feet under the hem of her gown.

“I’m happy to share it with you.” His strong hand tenderly smoothed a stray lock from her face.

* * *

 

**Day 3: Gaming/watching a movie**

Denethor tossed the note aside, exasperated. “Smaug’s Teeth,” he groaned. “Draugerion had to cancel our _cerin_ night. Stuck with messengers from home.”

Finduilas set her embroidery frame aside; with a rustle of silks she came to stand by him. “I could partner you. It’s been many years, but Imrahil and I used to play.”

Denethor raised his eyebrows. “Very well then, wife of mine, I challenge you.”

She brought out the board, and they bent to placing their stones.

She clapped with giddiness over a few quick captures. Were they beginner’s luck? Denethor wondered if he had been taken in.

* * *

 

**Day 4: On a date**

After the usual bouquet of wildflowers—were there any left in the hills between Minas Tirith?— and Grandmother Lacheniel had turned back to the throne of her favorite cushioned seat, Finduilas pounced.

“Grandmother, may the Captain-General and I walk down to the lower city? I need to buy… more ink for my calligraphy.”

A gimlet eye fixed on her, then her suitor.

“And the household of the Prince is not enough to have the vendor come to you?”

Finduilas blinked.

“Very well, take Ivriniel with you.”

Ivriniel rolled her eyes. She said with feigned airiness, “I’ll send for our shawls.”

* * *

 

**Day 5: Kissing**

Yesterday’s storm had passed, but the surf below the castle was still rough. Finduilas and Denethor sat in the exedra’s shelter, warmed in the sun. She looked up; Denethor had trailed off. He was staring at her. Was there something on her nose? He leaned forward, putting his arm on the shelf behind them.

Oh!

Right.

She leaned forward too. What all had Ivriniel had ever said in their teenage years? She remembered to close her eyes at the last minute.

There was a brush of softness and then teeth clunked. Her eyes flew open again and they both sat back, sheepish. Their eyes locked again; she thought she’d tumble into a chasm in his dark eyes. Emboldened, she leaned forward again. Yes, much nicer.

They did not hear the footsteps crunching on the tabby.

“Oh my! Am I interrupting something?” a masculine voice drawled.

They sprang apart.

“Immy,” she growled.

  
“My Lord Captain-General!” Imrahil bowed with exaggeration. “What brings you here?”

“Imrahil of Dol Amroth, as the commander of the Gondorian armies, I bid you get lost.” Denethor never looked up from their clasped hands.

“Oh, but you’re not my commander. Grandfather Angelimir is, but I’ll go anyhow. Toodle-oo.”

* * *

 

**Day 6: Wearing Each Other’s Clothes**

The wave did not swamp the little sailboat, but thoroughly soaked them. The breeze, which had refreshed them, was chilling now.

“We’ll need,” Finduilas and Denethor both chattered.

“No, you go first,” Denethor said.

“We need to get out of these clothes,” she said.

“My thoughts exactly.” He reached into the dry storage under the seat.

She donned the proffered thick wool sweater and flapped the long sleeve ends. “Here, let me tie my scarf around you.”  

She wound the spotted silk around his head; the ends trailed down his back.

“Now you look suitably piratical for Belfalas!” she laughed.

* * *

 

**Day 7: Cosplaying**

“I’m going to do it. I’m going to take Halafdess with me.”

Denethor froze. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Finduilas met Denethor’s eyes in her dressing table mirror, where she was arranging her hair to be artfully disheveled. “Halafdess is perfectly trained. And who at the masquerade would know that I am supposed to be Luthien if I don’t have my Huan?”

“You are attending with someone carrying their hand and a large paste jewel; that might be a clue.”

Finduilas stood to tie Denethor’s mask ribbons. She kissed his ear. “Trust me. I trained Halafdess, not Ivriniel.”

* * *

 

**Day 8: Shopping**

“So, ink…” Denethor hesitated.

Finduilas stopped to look up at him. “Yes, ink. It should be dark for a bold effect. I know of a store in the second ward that has both pigments and sea ink.”

Passersby brushed past them. Ivriniel coughed. She pointed to the confectioners’ store across the way.

“I’m just going to duck in for some tea.” She coughed a couple more times, a tinny artificial cough. “I seem to have a frog in my throat.”

As Ivriniel wove through the crowds, Finduilas winked. “We’ll have to take the long way ‘round to the stationers’ shop.”

* * *

 

**Day 9: Hanging out with friends**

“Take that!” Denethor chortled. His long fingers stretched out to remove another piece from the board.

Draugerion rubbed his jaw. He spoke up to the figure seated by the fire. “Lady Finduilas, are you sure you won’t come help me rout this fiend? He is driving all the counters before him.”

Finduilas placed her needle in her embroidery, and padded over to their gaming table. She studied the board.

“Hmm… I see a good move, and while it is enjoyable to rout my Lord Husband, truthfully, good sir, how can I foreswear the fealty demanded to my Lord the Steward?”

* * *

 

**Day 10: With animal ears**

“No, Draugerion, that is beyond the bounds of friendship and dignity.”

Draugerion raised his eyebrows. “But you both completely outrank myself and my wife. It’s only fitting that you should preside over the Hunt Ball.”

Denethor glowered at his best friend.  

Finduilas touched her forehead, where something resembling owl tufts was bound into her hair.  “Tuillinneth pulled her family’s headdresses from storage for us. We can’t refuse.” She held out a second willow crown. “These fox ears fit your crafty nature, Husband.”      

“My only consolation is that Thorondir is far to sea and will never hear of this,” Denethor sighed.


	2. Days 11-20

**Day 11: Wearing kigurumis**

The snow outside the hunting cabin fell in a faint shhh; the midday light was dimly purple.  

“I wasn’t expecting a blizzard this late in the season,” Denethor muttered, putting another log on the fire. “We may be here for a few days.” 

“I’m sure Gondor will manage. It’s no secret where we are, and your sisters can run the Council in your absence.” Finduilas wrapped one of the bearskin rugs from the bed around herself, and handed him a deerskin. She sat back down, leaning her head on his shoulder. The new log snapped; he glared at its impudence.

* * *

 

**Day 12: Making out**

The snow still fell in large lazy flakes as they snuggled on the settle. Their dinner of rabbit stew was consumed, and the dishes washed up in snowmelt. 

“What now, my love?” Denethor asked.

Finduilas flicked her dark braid over her shoulder. “Our series of  _ cerin _ is tied but I can’t bear a tiebreaker.”

“A pity.” 

Finduilas thought for a moment, then with a grin hitched her legs over so that she was sitting in Denethor’s lap. Denethor raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he grabbed her hips to pull her closer. She put her arms around his neck and leaned in close enough that his dark curls tickled her forehead. 

“I could sing the second canto of the Lay of Nimrodel,” she whispered. 

“I thought there was only one,” he said, nibbling experimentally on the exposed curve of her neck. 

She arched her head back as his lips met her collarbone. “On the contrary,” she said. “The Dol Amroth version has more than what the bards sing at Merethond.”

“Is that so?” he murmured against the lace of her neckline, stealing lower. “What all do the Bards of Belfalas have to say?”

“Mmmph,” was all she could manage.

* * *

 

**Day 13: Eating ice cream**

He found her in the walled garden, sitting underneath the poplar tree. He joined her on the bench; the marble was cool in the summer’s heat. 

“I wanted to go home this summer.” She was staring at the tips of the mountains beyond the wall.  

He set his cargo on the bench and gave her a hug.

“I know. I brought you something.” 

She looked back at him, eyes puffy and red. 

He held out an earthenware bowl. “The kitchens made you this- raspberries from Belfalas, and ice from the snow fields of the mountains. We all care for you.”

* * *

 

**Day 14: Genderswapped**

Finduilas was reviewing the new laws created in the last session of Burgesses when Denethor entered her study. 

“Do you have any corsairs to chase down?” he asked. “What good is someone in a walled city who’s used to a life on the high seas?”

She punched him playfully on the arm. “You’re doing fine. You’re my eye candy for all the balls and receptions.” She dug in a drawer and found a sack of coins. She pushed it across the table. “Here’s some coins- why don’t you go down to the third level and buy a new piratical sash?”  

* * *

 

**Day 15: In a different clothing style**

A benefit of being the Steward’s Wife, Finduilas found, was that when visiting troupes gave performances in Merethrond, she could visit backstage. The dancers from the Orocarni were her favorites. Trying on the wide triangular skirts and mask translated her into an exotic doll. Conversely, Denethor in their silk trousers and tufted hat was just Denethor in silk trousers. There was no transformational experience for him, even with the tassel dripping over his ear. He scowled when the magicians refused to teach him their tricks, but vowed to watch them even more closely the next time to divine their art.   

* * *

**Day 16: During their morning rituals**

Finduilas hummed a song as she strolled among the flower beds. When all the spent blooms were dispatched, she brushed her hands on her generous brown apron and hung it on a waiting peg. She crossed to the practice yards, and stood under the portico to watch. Denethor was sparring with one of the Guard members. He scored a final touch and the match ended. Looking up, he saluted first his opponent, then his wife. 

She met him halfway, and took his arm. “Shall we go in to breakfast?”   

Denethor gestured with his free hand. “Lead on, my Lady Wife.”

* * *

 

**Day 17: Spooning**

“I’m cold.” 

“I know,” Denethor said. He wrung out the damp cloth and laid it in the basin. He reached for the blanket, and pulled it up over her shoulders. “There you go.” He almost touched her arm, then hesitated. The rash was bad enough that any touch was like sharkskin to her. 

“The boys?” Finduilas asked.

“Visiting your cousins in Lossarnach. They’re safe.”

“Good.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. 

Denethor’s eyes darkened. He carefully moved his chair back, then crawled on top of the covers, curling himself around her. “Please get better,” he said, smoothing her matted hair.

* * *

 

**Day 18: Doing something together**

Denethor carried yet another water bucket to the construction site of Boromir’s expanding sandcastle. Finduilas knelt by the fortifications, helping Boromir place the formed wet sand of the curtain wall. She met Denethor’s eyes and smiled. 

The toy shovel lay discarded in a pile of sand. Wavering unsteadily, Faramir contemplated the fascinating object. Squatting down, he picked it up, twisting it upward in his hand. 

“Don’t do that!” Denethor exclaimed, snatching it just as touched Faramir’s mouth. 

Faramir looked as if he might cry, but Boromir distracted him by pointing out the improvements he’d made to the city’s great dome.

* * *

 

**Day 19: In Formal Wear**

“Are you ready, my love?” Denethor poked his head around the door of her bedroom. 

Finduilas put her last earring in and stood up. She gave her husband a peck on the lips. 

“How do I look,” he asked, spreading his arms and turning about.

She smiled. “Apart from wearing your best black velvet tunic with the silverwork white tree instead of your everyday black velvet tunic with the white tree?” 

“Well, there’s that,” Denethor said sheepishly. He pointed one foot with exaggerated care. “I do have my best black hose too.” 

“You look perfectly ready for your father’s ball,” she replied. “And me, how do I look?” The hem of her deep rose gown swung out as she twirled herself. The tiara set with rose quartz sparkled in the twisting light against her dark hair. 

“Perfect as always.”

“I’m glad.” She moved forward and draped her arms around his shoulders. 

There was a polite knock on the door, and they both looked up. 

He sighed. They stepped apart.

“Come,” she said. 

“Begging your pardon, my Lady,” said the nursery maid, “but Nanny says that Boromir has gotten, well, THOSE, on his head from one of his playmates.” 

Finduilas sighed.

* * *

 

**Day 20: Dancing**

As the son and daughter-in-law of the Steward, it was Denethor and Finduilas’s role to lead the dancing at the annual ball. There were two sorts of people at the ball tonight: those who were openly excited over the prospect of seeing Denethor and his new wife together, and those who claimed it was of no interest and lied.  

Finduilas held her head high at the center of the hall, but close up, Denethor could see her lips barely move as she counted the steps. Balance forward, balance back, turn sunwise to the outside, not anti-sunwise. 

“You’re doing fine, Fin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: As I was trying to figure out how exactly to accomplish a genderswapped version of Finduilas and Denethor I realized that the genderswapped FxD = Leia Organa and Han Solo. Also, I’m not in the Denethor was a 100% bad parent belief- we all have good days and bad days, and maybe he just wasn’t so good at the whole positive redirection thing.


	3. Days 21-30

**Day 21: Cooking/Baking**

They were still snowed in. Denethor caught a few more rabbits in his snares, and so they had fried rabbit instead of rabbit stew for lunch. 

“No more rabbits today, please,” Finduilas begged. 

“How about pudding?” 

Finduilas raised one eyebrow. 

“I’ll wager you a two stone advantage on our next  _ cerin _ game that you’ll like it.” 

They shook hands. 

“Your job is to get a rolling kettle of water going. Do you think you can manage that?” 

“I was taught to navigate, not be ship’s cook,” she muttered, but cooperated.

Denethor rummaged in the cupboard for some items which he set out. He drew out his sword and began bashing the hardtack into powder with the hilt. He poured it into another bowl with some water and dried apples and the grease from the rabbits.

“Now, some cloth and some string?”

Finduilas looked around, and handed him a dish cloth and a length of twine. He floured the cloth, and poured the dough ball into the cloth. The dough went into the boiling water and they waited. 

“How did you learn to do this?” she asked when they could dig in. 

“How did you think we soldiers eat in Osgiliath?”

* * *

 

**Day 22: In battle side-by-side**

Haystack Rock loomed ahead. 

“There’s our turning point,” Finduilas called out.

Denethor looked behind them. “They’re gaining on us.”

Finduilas looked ahead. Ivriniel was rounding the rock.

“Stand by to gybe,” she called out. 

“All clear,” Denethor replied.

“Gybe-oh.” 

She held onto the tiller, moving it in the new direction, then yanked the rope. They both ducked as the boom flicked across the sailboat. Finduilas straightened the tiller and they rebalanced themselves in the boat. 

“We’ll never catch Ivvy, but at least we can keep ahead of Thorondir and Imrahil.”

“We can never lose to them. Hûl!”

“Hûl!” she screamed.

* * *

 

**Day 23: Arguing**

“How dare you humiliate me like that?” Finduilas half whispered, half sobbed.  

Denethor raised his hands. “How could you be seen like that? People will talk.”

Finduilas waved her arm in the direction they had just come. “People are already going to be talking that you marched in with your eyes dark as a hurricane and dragged me by the sleeve out of a conversation.”

“It’s not seemly,” he yelled. The sound bounced from the pillars before dying. In the silence, they could hear the sounds of the music and laughter in the distance.

Finduilas closed her eyes, and bit her lip. After a moment she spoke.  

“It was a single  _ dance _ , Denethor. At a ball. In public. I am the wife of the Captain-General, the Steward’s daughter-in-law. I must be gracious to everyone. He asked, and I accepted. I would have given a set to any of the officers of the guard, or the youngest stableboy, if he had asked.”

“I don’t trust him. He already has my father beguiled; you could fall sway to him next.”

Finduilas looked up at the lintel and then back at Denethor.

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous of Thorongil?”

* * *

 

**Day 24: Making up afterwards**

Denethor was silent.

“You  _ are _ jealous about Thorongil.” Finduilas took Denethor’s hands in hers. She looked up to his face. “I love only you. I stay here in the city _ for you _ .”

“I... thought I had an insight that he sees the city as his.”

“The northern rangers never stay; they always go away again. You are what matters to your father. You will be here. You will be the next Steward, and Boromir afterward.” 

In the light of the moon, Finduilas saw that the spark had gone out of Denethor’s eyes. His shoulders slumped. 

“I’m sorry, Finduilas. Forgive me?”

* * *

 

**Day 25: Gazing into each others’ eyes**

When Finduilas paused and looked to him for confirmation, Denethor thought realized he had no idea what she had been saying. Her grey eyes held the question. 

Grey like the sea below Dol Amroth after a storm. Grey like the ash that sometimes coated the ground on the slopes east of Henneth Annun. 

He shook his head to clear the thought. 

Finduilas blinked as the pained expression flitted across his face. She searched his face to see if he understood; he didn’t know how to answer. 

“Sometimes I think your eyes could be a well I’d fall into,” she said.

* * *

 

**Day 26: Getting Married**

Finduilas looked around as she made her way through the arbor created by the arch of the blooming magnolia trees. Auraneth was discreetly sniffling into a handkerchief. Grandmother Lacheniel was the only person seated; she had demanded a chair by right of seniority. “Age  _ and _ precedence, mind you, young lady,” she told Telperien. 

At their procession’s end, Ivriniel took Finduilas’s bouquet of orange blossoms and waggled her eyebrows. Finduilas glared at her. She glanced straight ahead as Adrahil placed her hand in Denethor’s, then stepped back. Finduilas met Denethor’s eyes. Once again she thought she might drown, until he winked.  

* * *

 

**Day 27: On one of their birthdays**

Finduilas sat in her window seat looking out to the southwest. Her cup rested in its saucer, forgotten in her hands. Denethor knocked on the door connecting their rooms, and poked his head around. 

“I’m up, don’t worry.” 

She held up her lips to his kiss. 

He produced a carefully wrapped package wrapped from behind his back. 

“Happy Birthday, Findy.”

“Thank you, my Love,” she replied. She tugged at the bow, and the wrapping fell away. A river of blue wool poured out of the bundle, spreading over her lap. 

She looked up at Denethor; quizzing him with her eyebrows. He merely shrugged, grinning. 

She shook it out and gasped. Embroidered into the thick boiled wool were bursts of silver threadwork stars. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she cried. 

She stood up and let him fasten the pearled clasp around her neck. She grabbed one edge and pulled it around her tightly.

“This will be warm this winter.”

“I know how sad you were you had to give up your old cloak,” he said, “and with the fall running out…”

“It wouldn’t do to have the wife of the Captain-General in a threadbare cloak that she put her heel through?” she interjected.

* * *

 

**Day 28: Doing something ridiculous**

“Wearing the headdress is bad enough; now you say there’s more?” 

“Now, Denethor,” Finduilas chided. “You want to be a good guest. Nobility must oblige.” 

“I think Draugerion just wanted to sit it out for a change.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence in their places of honor on the dais. The youth of the village circled each other, holding hands and tapping their feet in intricate steps. 

Denethor leaned over again. “What is it we’ll do again?”

Finduilas’s eyes never left the floor. Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “Something about foxes and chickens.”

* * *

 

**Day 29: Doing something sweet**

Denethor tiptoed into the room; it was quiet for a change. Finduilas sat calmly in her rocking chair, with Boromir asleep on her shoulder. His peach fuzz bald head was tipped to one side, mouth open. One tiny fist rested against her collarbone. 

“He finally wore himself out,” she said. 

“I told you it was his tummy. What good are my insights if I can’t use them to sort colic?” Denethor smiled wryly as he rubbed the back of his head; the headache was beginning again. Reading insights had their costs. “Would you like me to hold him?” he asked.

* * *

 

**Day 30: Doing something hot**

It was the hottest summer that anyone could remember. In the distance, Mount Doom was spewing a cloud of ash and rocks, compounding everyone’s unease and discomfort.

Denethor resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Some of the soldiers left off their chain mail, but he would not. Finduilas stood next to him on the ramparts, arm in arm. She fanned herself with her free hand. Their reason for staying in the city’s heat was apparent in the enormous swell of her gown. Their eyes met, and they smiled.

“Soon,” he said.

“Our future is here together,” she said.


End file.
